Pausing for only a moment, Munguto deftly reached inside his beard and pulled out the insect which had made its den inside the thatch of grime-encrusted hair. Looking around from side to side, and seeing that no one else was around who could condemn him for his actions (and in any case, Munguto cared little for the sensibilities of others), Munguto popped the insect into his mouth as though a sweet meat, and chewed thoughfully.

*Bah!* he commented, as he scatched mindlessly at the pants he had worn for the past 4 months without changing them, and which now seemed to have disintegrated entirely and were held together only by a thin layer of filth.

"Huh", said Munguto, as a realisation dawned on him that he was unlikely to get any drink stronger than moonwater here in the elven lands of Kalimdor.

Munguto's head swam.. slowly his vision came back into focus and he found he was staring up at what looked like the roof of an old tomb. His skull felt like an ogre had been sitting on it, and his mouth tasted like a kodo had done its bussiness in it. How had he got to this place, and where was he? All he could remember was a flagon of extremely potent cherry grog, and a traffic cone....